


time the love we chase

by cosmicsymphony



Category: Trying Human
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, here be headcanons, this is so self-indulgent oh my god
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-03-02 17:06:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13322658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmicsymphony/pseuds/cosmicsymphony
Summary: And as he'd broken her out of her cage, John told her he was going to get her out of here, that they were going to escape together, and she had never wanted to hear anything more in her life. He offered his hand to her, and she had taken it eagerly, thinking to herself that she would soon leave this horrific place and never, ever look back.(or: the story of how Pigment and FJ12 escaped Area 51, became fugitives, and subsequently traveled across the entire country together)





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This entire fic is self-indulgence at its finest. Seeing as there's a lot we still don't know about John/FJ12 and Pigment, I've taken the liberty of 'filling in the gaps', as it were. They're not super prominent in the story (yet??), but I have a tendency to latch onto the more obscure characters, and these two are no exception. I'm not sure if the story will really delve into the aftermath of their escape from Area 51, so I consider this fic a sort of 'behind the scenes' glimpse into their lives during that time. 
> 
> Also, I just want to see them kiss. I'm a sucker for human/monster romances. Especially ones with height differences. But that's just me.

 

* * *

(this is how it starts.)

 

_She is riding on John’s back, legs curled tightly around his waist. John is hurtling through the base, and although he is panting, he does not slow down. He -- they -- cannot afford to. Just minutes ago, John had managed to sneak into the Commander White Coat’s quarters and free her from her prison._

( _Although she would never say this to John, she wonders if his scheme would have had the same results if the Commander White Coat had not drank himself into a stupor an hour before._

 _And as he'd broken her out of her cage, John told her he was going to get her out of here, that they were going to escape together, and she had never wanted to hear anything more in her life. He offered his hand to her, and she had taken it eagerly, thinking to herself that_ _she would soon leave this horrific place and never, ever look back._ ) 

_John flings a door open so quickly it smacks him in the face. He bellows in pain, rubbing the injured area. When she tells him they cannot stop for anything, he manages to shake it off, warning her to hold on to him as tightly as she can, as hell is about to break loose any moment now. As if on cue, a vile sound fills the base: it is a high-pitched, wailing scream, and it slowly dawns on Pigment that the Commander White Coat must have woken up, only to realize she is not where he left her._

_“Don’t worry; we’re almost there,” John says, nearing a door that will lead them to freedom. He certainly seems confident, but there is a slight trembling in his voice, and she understands he is saying this to himself as much as he is to her. “We’re so close.”_

_When John yanks the door open, a blast of cold air greets them: miraculously, they have made it out of the base. John dashes away from the building, into the awaiting arms of the desert, and Pigment knows if she were to look up, she would be able to see the stars. But they will have to wait. Now, all that stands between her and safety is an enormous fence, far too high for John to climb._

_“Pigment? Do you, uh, mind helping me out?” he murmurs, and she immediately realizes what he is asking of her._

_Pigment leaps to the ground and lays a hand on the fence’s chains. She concentrates, willing the barrier to nothingness. Not a second later, the entire fence completely vanishes. John bends down, allowing Pigment to climb onto his back, and after she wraps her arms around his neck, he grabs her ankles and takes off into the desert. She does not know where they are going, but she finds herself unbothered by this. All that matters is she is going far away from the base._

_She is safe._

_She is finally safe._

 

(this is how it starts.)


	2. a fresh poison each week

_“The probability of separate worlds meeting is very small. The lure of it is immense. We send starships. We fall in love."_ _-  Jeanette Winterson_

* * *

It’s raining. Hard.

John is convinced there's no rational explanation for the way it's coming down in buckets other than it being the work of a sky god giving him a personal  _fuck you_. 

He's also lost track of how long the storm has actually been going on. The one thing he doesknow is he’s drenched to an ungodly amount.

They both are.

“I’m sorry about all this rain, Pigment. Leave it to me to coordinate a grand escape only to have a storm blow in and slow us down. And a very nasty storm, at that.”

 _“It is fine.”_  

Her voice, cool and reassuringly familiar, reverberates in his mind, and although she says everything is all right, John can’t help but feel angry with himself. The storm really is a serious hindrance, and the fact dangerous government agents are hot on their trail makes this entire situation extraordinarily shitty. John finds himself wanting to give Pigment his coat, but ultimately decides against it: he’d be of no use to her sick. He’s taking them to New York - well, _trying_ to - and any second they spend resting could be the second that well and truly fucks them over.

They don’t say anything else to each other for a while, and the pitter-patter of raindrops and squish of wet earth beneath their feet are the only things keeping them from walking in total silence.  

( _Of course, Pigment never actually_ says _anything. Not in a literal sense, anyway. Being a Grey, she communicates by projecting her thoughts into his mind and allowing his brain to do the rest. But he’s never been one to get too hung up on specifics_.)

 _“Where are we going?”_ Pigment asks, her voice startlingly piercing.   

“New York,” he responds. When Pigment doesn't acknowledge him, he realizes she has no idea what he’s talking about. “It’s a city,” John quickly explains, “a place where we should be able to hide without the Majestic ever finding us.”

_“That sounds promising.”_

John laughs.

“You don’t say.”

There’s another long period of silence, and John is again left alone with his thoughts. It’s an interesting experience, to say the least, having an extraterrestrial as his sole traveling companion. And a fairly reserved one, at that. Even when she’d still been a prisoner of Area 51, she hadn’t exactly been overflowing with conversation. When they first met, and had been, at best, suspicious of each other, he hadn’t been able to get anything out of her. However, as time had gone by, and John’s belief in the righteousness of the Majestic 12 slowly whittled away, they’d developed a steady trust. A trust that seemed, slowly but surely, to be blossoming into a friendship. 

John knows Greys are emotionless beings, and do not - _cannot_ \- understand the feelings that drive the very concept of friendship. He _knows_ that, but all of his interactions with Pigment seem to contradict this. She _has_ emotions, and while she doesn’t wear them on her sleeve, they're definitely there. A few days ago, he’d playfully asked her if he could call her ‘Miss Piggy’, and while she’d told him no, he couldn’t, he hadn’t failed to notice a spring in her step afterward that hadn't been there before.  

It wasn’t until he had time to look back on the incident that he’d realized it had made him inordinately happy.  

He still has yet to acknowledge the implications of this.

“Pigment?” he blurts out, unable to stop himself.

_“Yes?”_

John realizes, with a pang of embarrassment, he doesn’t actually know what he wants to say. He doesn’t even know if he really had anything to say in the first place. He just wants to know that she’s still there, that she hasn’t left him.  

_“John, what did you want to say?”_

“Oh, uh, nothing important. Just… how are you doing? Because of, you know, the storm and all.”

He sounds completely idiotic, and before he can finish mentally scolding himself for even opening his mouth, Pigment answers.

_“All right. Could be better. How are you?”_

“Me? Oh, I’m fine, thank you for asking.”

_“No.”_

"Care to elaborate?"  

_“You are not fine. I can see you shivering.”_

It’s a simple observation, but John is touched nevertheless. He chuckles and stuffs his hands into his pockets.  

“Am I really that bad of a liar?”

_“Yes.”_

They go back and forth for a while, discussing the reasons why being caught in a rainstorm is _not_ as exhilarating as it’s made out to be and that having wet socks is the most uncomfortable feeling known to man. ( _Pigment can’t relate to the second bit, but she tells him she trusts his judgement, and if he thinks having wet socks is godawful, then it must be so._ )

Eventually, they encounter a rock formation large enough to shelter them both from the rain. John hits the ground with a very un-Majestic plop, cleans his glasses and attempts to wring out his coat before admitting it’s a fruitless endeavor. Pigment sits beside him, legs curled up, chin resting on her knees. John can hear his heart thundering in his chest, and tells himself he needs to enjoy this break: it might be the last one they get for some time. The storm has shown no signs of stopping anytime soon, and John hopes it at least slowed their pursuers down as much as it did them. Then again, knowing who and what the Majestic 12 have on their side, it may not have set them back at all. Which isn't fucking fair. 

“This is bullshit,” he declares, the anger that's been bubbling up inside him for some time finally erupting.   

 _“What is?”_ Pigment asks, turning her head so that she meets his gaze.

“ _This_. All of this. The fucking storm. Having the Majestic 12 shitheads after us. Being lost in a fucking desert that doesn’t seem to fucking end. It’s fucking bullshit.”  

He spits the last word out viciously, and Pigment looks away from him, her shoulders tensing ever so slightly.  

John softens, sheepishly scratching his head. The last time he had an outburst like that, he was probably fourteen. 

“When I, uh, say this is bullshit, I don’t mean the part about getting you out of that place. That's not bullshit. I just mean, well… I hate everything that's happened since then. This whole escape thing has kind of gone to hell.”   

_“I see.”_

She’s adopted a haughty tone, which is an irritating habit she has of indicating she’s particularly upset. He thinks she must assume he regrets their breakout, as it’s the reason they’re in this predicament, no matter if he claims otherwise.  

“Pig,” he says softly, using the one nickname she permitted him to give her.  

Silence.

“Listen. I don’t want you to think I take back what happened back at the base. I don’t. And I never will. What those monsters are doing is sick, and you didn’t deserve what happened to you. Don’t feel like a burden. You’re not.”

She still won’t look at him, but her posture is not as slumped as it was a few minutes ago. He’s overcome by an urge to lay a hand on her back, and slowly he reaches out. When she doesn’t flinch upon the contact, he rubs tiny circles into her back and shoulders.  

“Is there anything else I can do to help?” John whispers.

_“No.”_

It’s a terse answer, but the obnoxious arrogance is now gone from her voice.

“I’ll keep watch for a while, so you just rest, Pig.”

_“Thank you.”_

Again, Pigment puts her chin on her knees, arms wrapped around herself. When John notices she’s nodding off, he removes his hand and leans back against the rock. Fifteen minutes ought to be just enough time for them to recover their strength before getting back on the move. He just hopes he’ll be able to keep himself awake during this respite. Now that they’re out of the rain, the storm has become much more pleasant overall, and the sound of raindrops hitting the earth is dangerously hypnotic. In order to fight the temptation of sleep, John tries to plot out the fastest route they can take that will lead them to New York. As of now, they’re still in Nevada, and he thinks their best bet would be to keep their course as linear as possible. From here, they’ll make their way to Utah, then Colorado, then Nebraska, and so on. Of course, he also needs to take the Majestic 12 into account, which may require making a detour or two in the hopes of throwing the agents off the scent. Maybe once they reach Iowa they can travel south to Missouri, then go to Illinois from there.  Or maybe they can -

 _Maybe they can sit around wondering where the fuck they go from here._ John sighs in frustration and puts his face in his hands. He has no idea what to do. If the Majestic 12 get ahold of them, they’re done for. That much is certain. There’s no way in hell the Majestic - or perhaps more accurately, Dr. Glasner - would ever let a deserter and a Grey pay for this with anything but their lives.  

 _“John?”_ a small voice asks, and when he looks up, Pigment is looking at him, her head cocked. The sight almost makes him laugh.

“Mm hm?”  

_“Are we going to leave soon?”_

Wonderful. While he'd been throwing himself a pity party, he’d lost track of time. Perhaps this was the universe telling him he needed to get his shit together.  

“Yeah, we’re going to leave right now. Just start preparing yourself for more wind and rain for the next four hours or so.”  

_“Will do.”_

John gets to his feet, adjusts his glasses and slips his coat back on. It’s still wet - uncomfortably so - but now it’s just a minor annoyance if he’s putting it in perspective.  

“Are you ready for this?” He looks down at Pigment, and she’s staring intently at the landscape before them, and John wonders what she's thinking.  

_“We have no other choice.”_

She's right, of course, but he's filled with a sense of dread nonetheless.

“Is that just a fancy way of saying we’re probably fucked?”

_“It might be.”_

* * *

They’ve been walking for at least an hour before the rain finally lets up. At the very least, it’s no longer coming down in sheets, which John is profoundly grateful for. While Pigment hadn’t verbally complained during the downpour, John had been able to tell by the way she’d been hunched over and solemn for the greater part of the hour that it hadn’t put her in a very good mood. He wonders if rain had been common on the Grey homeworld, and is about to ask before he remembers she’s never actually lived there.

 _“I do not know. The planet was long gone by the time I was created,”_ she says,  her voice echoing in his mind. John, now mildly uncomfortable, does not acknowledge this. He enjoys Pigment’s company -- he truly does -- but her ability to know exactly what he is thinking does bother him somewhat. It feels awkward at best and terribly invasive at worst. He considers asking her if she could just tune his thoughts out. Or something like that, at least.

_“I apologize for any discomfort I may have caused you. I am accustomed to looking into others’ minds out of suspicion they are withholding information. But if you want me to stop, I will.”_

“Yes, please do. It’s one of the creepier things you’re capable of, and I think it would be better for us both if you stopped. Besides, if you did it at the wrong time, it could get pretty embarrassing, if you know what I mean,” he adds, raising an eyebrow suggestively at her.

_“I do not.”_

John rolls his eyes and feels his face grow hot.

“Just - just trust me when I say it would be very awkward for the both of us, all right?”

_"I do not understand what you meant."_

"Don't worry about it. I was being stupid. I've become quite good at it over the past week."

_"Fine.”_

They don’t talk again for another hour. Pigment is obviously upset he left her in the dark about his earlier remark. He doesn’t feel bad: if she wants to be pissed off at him all because he kept a stupid little innuendo from her, that’s her problem. He can deal with the cold shoulder. When he notices Pigment speeding up, as though she’s trying to walk ahead of him, he snickers and effortlessly strides ahead of her. It’s immature, what they’re doing, but he’s angry that he’s angry and right now, he doesn’t mind giving in to such childish behavior.  

_“Are you really going to just leave me behind?”_

John looks behind him to see Pigment struggling to keep up, taking about two steps for every one of his. She’s undoubtedly cursing her small stature, and he’s about to make a joke when her temper gets the better of her and she stomps across the desert floor; unfortunately for her, the soil muffles the sound, and she makes for a comical sight. Which is probably not what she was shooting for. 

“No, I’m not. You’ve caused me far too much trouble.”  

The statement was meant to be lighthearted, but Pigment is apparently not in the mood for sarcasm.

_“Then leave if I am that much of a burden to you!”_

This is the second day in a row he’s offended her, and if they’re going to be traveling companions, they have to stop provoking each other, intentionally or not.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for that to hurt you. I really didn’t. But what we both need to understand is, well, we’re all we’ve got now. It’s just the two of us, maybe for the rest of our lives. And if we can’t figure out a way to express our feelings to each other in ways that don’t involve screaming and pettiness, we’re fucked. From now on, we need to swallow our pride and work as a unit.”

Pigment takes a sudden interest in her feet, and when she doesn’t say anything after several minutes, John begins making peace with the fact they might not be as good of a team as he thought were. Which is incredibly disheartening. 

_“All right then. If survival means cooperating and accepting each other as we are, flaws included, then so be it.”_

Pigment is looking him in the eye, and he feels there’s something she wants to say to him that has nothing to do with a promise of teamwork.

_“Forgive me for what I said earlier. I know you do not think of me as a burden.”_

A pause. Whatever she’s hoping to say isn’t coming easy to her.

_"I hope you know you are not a burden to me, either.”_

At first, John isn’t sure what do, what to think. Pigment’s comment is the kindest thing anyone has said to him in a very long time. The Majestic 12 are not exactly known for their warmth, and he can't recall any of the agents ever saying anything to each other that might suggest even the slightest hint of camaraderie. Eventually, he settles on hoisting Pigment onto his back, and she gives his shoulder a tiny squeeze.

He figures it's safe to say they're officially partners now.  

 


	3. wisdom of the fool won't set you free

_Pigment decides she hates the desert._

_There is something about it that sets her on edge, though she cannot pinpoint just what it is. Perhaps it is the sheer_ openness _of it that makes her feel especially vulnerable, or the way it seems like one giant death trap: it is as though the very landscape itself is out to get her. The desert is a barren place, and she is surprised that anything can actually survive here. She thinks back to an exchange she shared with John several days ago; he explained how water was the key to existence, and as long as it was plentiful enough, there was hope for life. Pigment also remembers John mentioning something about humans only being able to live several days without water, and with a start, she realizes she has not seen John drink anything aside from rainwater from two days ago._

 _“John?” she asks, tapping his arm_.

“Yes?”

_“Do you need water?”_

“Yeah, I was just thinking about that, believe it or not. I’d like to avoid passing out on you. Or dying.”

_“So would I.”_

_Pigment finds it strange how John can be so flippant about life or death matters. She had always thought humans were driven by the need to survive, that it controlled them, consumed them. The concept of a human behaving so casually about his own mortality is mystifying to her. It goes against everything she was led to believe about humanity._

_Then again, there is a slight possibility she may not have received the full picture from the Commander of the nature of human beings._

_There is another slight possibility the Commander may have something to do with this falsified image of mankind he had tried to project, and this is the most unusual prospect of all. Her species is not known for untruths._

_The idea of her former leader lying to the Grey collective is disturbing, but not outrageous._

_Pigment cannot help but wonder what else he is keeping from their dying people._

* * *

_It is late in the evening when she and John spot a road in the distance and, after another ten minutes or so of walking, lights from what John says is a town. Once he cleans his glasses to ensure his eyes are not playing tricks on him, John gives a loud whoop._

“We made it, Pig! We’re home free!”

_He picks her up and twirls her through the air, and she is left giddy and disoriented. She leans against John to steady herself, then climbs onto his shoulders. The world is still spinning, and the feeling is highly disconcerting._

“How’s the weather up there?” _he asks, and she can hear a laugh in his voice._

_“Fine.”_

“Oh come on, you can do better than that!”

_“There is no difference in weather from this height than from where I was standing nine seconds ago.”_

_John sighs. Clearly that was not the response he was seeking. Pigment shakes her head; there is no pleasing this man. One moment he wants her to be completely serious, the next he expects her to joke with him, as though she is one of his old human friends. Maybe, she thinks, it is part of his species’ nature to be unpredictable. Subservience to their emotions is a common trait among all she humans she has ever encountered. Even that awful one, the Commander White Coat, was prone to getting caught up in his own feelings instead of facing his problems with a calm, rational approach._

_In this regard, John is exactly the same._

_John's tendency to think with his 'heart' (as he had once described it) might be one of his more admirable qualities - as it is something she will never be able to possess - but it does have a downside: should he jump into situations without giving rational consideration to potential repercussions, it may cost them their lives._

_A voice in Pigment's head_ _reprimands her, saying it was John’s impulsive proclivities that got them out of the base in the first place. She is in no place to judge him for his rashness. Or for anything, really. He saved her, and she cannot deny this act was driven by those things her species had always considered to be humanity’s greatest weakness: emotion. John saved her because of the pity and compassion he felt for her, and yet._

_And yet there is another reason he chose to put his life on the line to bring her to freedom. John’s empathetic nature was not the only factor behind his actions that night. She knows what else was at work, what drove John to risk everything for her, but it terrifies her, and so she buries it deep among the other ghosts of truths she would rather not face._

“You’re awfully quiet, Pig. Everything all right?”

_Another one of John's more negative qualities: unfailingly interrupting her thoughts whenever she is most lost in her own musings._

_“Yes. I am thinking.”_

“About me?” _John says, a singsong lilt to his voice._

_Pigment gives his head a little shove, and John babbles out a very unconvincing apology._

“On that note, I hope we run into a diner soon. A guy can only handle so much cactus fruit day in and day out.”

_“What is a diner?”_

_Since she allowed John to break down her walls, he has filled her in (quite extensively) on Earth’s many unique features, but she does not remember a ‘diner’ ever having slipped into conversation. It sounds non threatening enough, though._

“It’s a place where we - humans, I mean - go to eat. Usually it's fairly small and the food isn’t exactly high quality, but it’s good for when you just need something in your belly.”

_Right. Eating. Humans need to do that on a regular basis in order to stay alive._

_John chatters from here, probably hoping to distract himself from what Pigment assumes to be hunger. He insists she_ needs _to try something called a milkshake; this, he claims, will change her life (which she doubts) and proceeds to name the various flavors of these aforementioned milkshakes._

_There are an obscene number of these 'flavors'._

_Twenty minutes and one impassioned rant about pineapple pizza later, Pigment and John find themselves at an empty diner. Pigment bounds off his shoulders, and John tell her she will need to stay hidden while he gets food, as most of humanity is unaware her species even exists. He does not think a fast food joint is an ideal location for revealing the biggest secret in the history of mankind._

“I won’t be long Pig, don’t worry,” _John says before slipping through the door._

_Now that she is alone, Pigment needs to be on high alert. She does not see or hear any Majestic 12 agents, which would be a good sign if not for the fact the Black Coats have an unfortunate habit of popping up whenever their prey least expects it._

_(This is all according to John.)_

_Luckily for Pigment, there do not appear to be many places in the desert that could function as even passable hiding places. Even the Majestic 12, who are frighteningly good at moving undetected by their enemies, would have trouble secreting themselves away in this arid environment._

_Pigment will not complain so much anymore about deserts._

_After one last careful scan of her surroundings, Pigment turns her attention to John, who is visible through the window. He is speaking with another human male who, judging by his rigid stance and crossed arms, is not liking what he is hearing. John’s body slumps, and he pleads with the man. After a few moments, the man vanishes into the back of the diner for a long time. Whatever John said must have worked. The man reemerges, and in both of his hands is a bag and a very large cup. John takes these eagerly, gives the man a quick nod in thanks, and pushes his way out the door._

“That, er, did take a bit longer than I expected. Don’t give me that look, I had no control over that! Anyway, if you're still interested in seeing the kind of food humans eat, I suggest you wander on over here.”

_Pigment walks to John’s side, eyeing the bag. John reaches in and pulls out some of the aforementioned human food. It is round, dotted with small, tear-dropped shaped things. Inside it are a wide assortment of other foods Pigment cannot put a name to. John bites into it, and liquid dribbles down his chin._

_It is a thoroughly disgusting sight._

“Want some?” _he asks, holding the mysterious food out to her._

_She stares at it._

“It’s a hamburger. Not the healthiest thing I could be eating, but beggars can’t be choosers, I suppose.”

_“Where is the milkshake?” she asks, surprised that John seems to have already forgotten about it._

“The what? Ah yes, the milkshake! I’ve got it right here in this cup. Help yourself!”

_Pigment takes the cup, removes the lid, and peers inside. The cup is filled with a thick substance John had described earlier as a combination of milk and ice cream. She sticks her finger into it, and slowly she can feel the milkshake filling her up._

_“Thank you,” she says, wiping her finger on her suit._

“No trouble at all. I know you can’t actually like or dislike it, but I figured you ought to try it all the same. If it's all right with you, I’d like to start moving and get to civilization as soon as possible.”

_John bends down, expecting her to assume her usual perch on his shoulders, but Pigment shakes her head. She will walk beside him this time around. Initially, John looks confused, but he shrugs and takes another massive bite out of his hamburger._

_At least one of them is enjoying themselves._

“Hey Pigment,” _John blurts, once he’s swallowed his food._

_“Yes?”  
_

“If you could be whatever you wanted, what would you be?”

_“I do not quite understand the question.”_

“If you had the chance to choose what you wanted to do with your life, what would you do with it? Who would you be?”

_“You go first.”_

“I’d probably just be a homemaker, honestly. I’ve always loved kids, and the idea of staying at home to take care of them never seemed like a bad idea to me.”

_So John liked children. This was new information, and by the sound of John’s voice, it was something very personal indeed. She does not know exactly how long John has - had - been part of the Majestic 12, but it must have been for quite a while if he never had the chance to start a family._

_Or perhaps he_ did _have a family, and they had been one of the sacrifices he had been forced to make when he became a Majestic agent. It is an awful thought and gives Pigment one more reason to hate the Commander White Coat and his cronies._

“Pig, you there?”

_Pigment looks up at John and sees his warm, familiar smile. He would be a good father. A much better one than her Commander was, her thoughts drifting to poor Hue._

_“I would be a Grey.”_

“Really? But you’re a Grey now.”

_“That is all I know how to be.”_

_Thus ends the conversation, and there is an unpleasant tension in the air that had not been there before. Pigment does not like it at all; something about John retreating into himself deeply unsettles her._

_“What would you call your children?” she asks, in the hopes of relieving the awkwardness._

_John is quiet at first, but once he realizes she will not accept silence, he answers._

“My first child would be named Vincent, if the baby turned out to be a boy,”  _he says slowly._

_“Why Vincent?”_

“It was my father's name. He was a very shy man, but very kind. That's what I've been told, at least.”

_Pigment can feel there is something John is not telling her, and that something is probably an unusually sensitive topic for him. She will have to tread carefully from this point on._

_“What happened to him?” she asks, making her voice as gentle as possible._

_John closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, then meets her gaze._

“He died two weeks after I was born. He was a very sickly man, so I’m told. But very kind.”

_John reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small square of paper._

“I’ve got a photograph of him, if you’d like to see,” _he says, already reaching into his pocket. He hands her the small square - the ‘photograph’ - and she carefully takes it from him._

_The photograph shows two humans, a man and a woman. The woman looks very much like John: she has the same hair color, eye color, the same nose. Even their smiles are exactly the same. The man, John’s father, looks strikingly different than his son. He has a long, aquiline nose, with a lean face and pointed chin. But the warmth in his eyes is exactly the same as John’s._

“He was just twenty years old when he died. I guess he was walking home from the only market in our town when a car struck him.”

_Pigment looks down at the photograph and she is again greeted by the smiling faces of John’s parents gazing up at her. Neither of them look familiar, meaning hey were likely not subjected to the Commander’s experiments. For this, she is grateful; it would have led to a very uncomfortable conversation with John._

“I still wonder if my life would’ve been different, if he hadn’t died. If I would’ve fought for the Majestic as hard as I did.”

_“Do you wish your life had been different?”_

“Well, I would've liked to have known my father, if that’s what you mean. I really wish I'd never met Glasner or almost all of the other Majestic agents. Now that you mention it, there are a lot of things in my life I wish I could do over. When I was eighteen, I had a job as a waiter in a café and I hated every fucking minute of it. I wish I’d quit earlier than I did. I wish I didn’t break my mom’s favorite vase when I was six and lied about it. I wish we’d met under different circumstances.”  

_“Under what circumstances do you wish we had met?”_

“Anywhere other than that awful place.”

_Pigment, wanting to change the topic before either of them had the chance to revisit unpleasant memories, asks John to tell a story. He’d done this often during her imprisonment, and she thought he was rather good at it._

“What kind of story do you want to hear?”

_“Any kind.”_

_Smiling, John complies._


	4. the skies and all man, waiting

_“That was nice.”_

For the past fifteen minutes, John has been, to the best of his ability, bullshitting his way through his own story, and his companion’s positive response makes him giddy. Even he feels it was rather good in spite of the fact he’d made it up as he’d gone along: a beautiful vixen escaped from a family that did not love her and met a scatterbrained yet kind fruit bat who became her companion. Together, they’d gone on a perilous quest to find the murderer of the fruit bat’s wealthy cousin.

While her final verdict is fairly typical for a Grey (short, blunt, and straight to the point), it’s as good a response as he could’ve hoped for. She hadn’t interrupted him once to point out a plot hole or anything else that didn’t make sense to her, which meant she was as enthralled in the story as was possible for a Grey.

“Thought you’d like it. I did the best I could, considering I pulled the entire thing out of my ass.”

A beat. John can practically see the gears in Pigment’s head whirring, trying to decipher what she has just heard.

“That’s an idiom, Pig. I didn’t _actually_ , you know, pull anything out of my ass. I, uh, did tell you what idioms were, right?”

_“Yes. Four nights ago.”_

“Okay, good. Sometimes I forget you aren’t familiar with a lot of concepts and such from Earth, so please let me know if I ever start talking about something you don’t understand.”

_“Thank you.”_

“Of course, it’s the least I can do.”

_“How much longer until we reach the town?”_

John looks at the glow of the lights, growing brighter with each step they take, and tells her they probably have another forty-five minutes of walking. Judging by the way Pigment’s fists clench, she’s no happier about this than he is.

“We could play a game to pass the time.”

_“No.”_

It isn’t rude, the way she says it; it’s just a statement, like she’s telling him whether or not she’s fond of the color red.

Either way, she’s shut him out, and John is again left alone with his thoughts.

_(Why had she asked him if he wished his life had turned out differently? Pigment had never been that intent on getting answers out of him before. Whatever the reason, she had stirred up emotions he’d rather not deal with; he’d_ never _talked about his father with anyone, not even Janet, and he’d grown close to her while he was still part of the Majestic. Why had he discussed this very personal matter with someone who, at the end of the day, didn’t even care?)_

And that was the truth: Pigment didn’t care about him.

Staying with him now was merely a convenience for her, and sooner or later, she’d leave. No matter how much he could hope against hope, she would never see him as anything other than a chatterbox bodyguard.

She would never feel anything for him. Not affection, not compassion, not loyalty.

Not anything.

And it _hurt._

_(Oh well, that was the price he paid for rescuing her from a lifetime of torture. Boo fucking hoo. He was better than this now.)_

_(Right?)_

* * *

John’s feet feel like they’re on fire when they reach the town. Pigment, who had given up on her own feet some time ago and taken refuge on his back, taps his head.

_“We are here.”_

“You bet we are, Pig. At this hour, I doubt there’ll be any people walking around, but I don’t want to take any chances. We’ll probably have to spend the night in an alley or an abandoned building, which isn’t exactly ideal, but it beats the desert by a long shot.”

Being here, where other people are fast asleep, unaware of the extraordinary being in their town, makes John realize just how much he misses the sort of emotional connection that comes with intimacy. Not intimacy of a sexual nature (though he misses that too), but one born from a profound closeness to another person.

_(He_ can’t _have that with Pigment.)_  

He's probably said this to himself a hundred times. And yet...

_(You don’t know that. You’ve been going off what that fuckwad Glasner told you about the Greys. The only way to know is to keep talking to her, asking her questions, until you both feel comfortable enough to open up.)_

_“What is on your mind? You are thinking very deeply,”_ Pigment says, tugging a strand of his hair.

“Why do you say that? You've haven't been scanning my mind, have you?”

_“No. Whenever you are thinking about something trivial, you hum. When you are lost in your thoughts, you do not.”_

Perhaps this won’t be as hard as he’d thought it would be.

* * *

It’s just as hard as he’d thought it would be.

Pigment is equally prone to both detailed sentences that could lead to an actual conversation longer than three minutes and one word answers. The problem is she’s unpredictable about what she is or isn't willing to discuss at length. After finding an old, abandoned, definitely-very-dangerous warehouse to tuck in for the night, John tries asking her about her work while she was still part of the Grey collective. She doesn’t even dignify him with a _hmph._ Embarrassed, John decides to leave her be.

“Good night, Pig,” he mumbles, removing his glasses and setting them aside.

_“Well eve.”_

John wraps his coat around himself and sighs. He was kidding himself earlier. There’s no way Pigment would ever allow herself to become so intimate with him.

In _either_ sense of the word.

The mere thought of Pigment wanting to have sex with him is enough to turn him on.

God, he’s pathetic.

In an attempt to force himself to fall asleep, John turns to counting sheep. He’s on forty-two when he hears a movement to his right. Pigment has left his side to stare out of a broken glass window.

“Pig, what are you doing?”

When she says nothing, John tries again.

“You can talk to me, you know. I know it’s not really your thing, but you shouldn’t feel like you need to keep things bottled up anymore. You’re not on the Grey mothership where no one gives a shit about your, um, feelings. I can just listen, if you want.”

He’s about to go back to bed when her voice slips into his mind.

_“I wonder if she has found her peace.”_

“Who?”

_“One of my companions from the collective.”_

“What do you mean, if she’s found her peace? Is she all right?”

_“I do not know. I have not seen her for years. She might be dead. Or not.”_

John lowers his gaze and absentmindedly twiddles his thumbs. He really wasn't prepared for something like  _this._

“I’m so sorry. That must be horrible, to not know something like that.”

_“Yes.”_

“Was she a worker like you? Or one of the, er, scientists?”

_“She was in charge of the operation to save our species from extinction.”_ _  
_

_(How the fuck can he compete with_ that?)

“What was her name? Well, not her name, since I know your people don’t use them, but -”

_“Shade. That is how the White Coats referred to her.”_

“Shade. It’s very nice.”

_“Thank you. It suits her.”_

“I’m sorry they took you away from her.”

Pigment trudges away from the window and sits cross-legged next to him.

_“Go to sleep, John,”_ she says, her voice, as per usual, devoid of any emotion.

“I won’t be able to unless I know you’re all right.”

_“I am fine.”_

This is his cue to stop talking and give her space. John rolls onto his side and is on Sheep Number 84 when he finally falls asleep.

* * *

_(The first thing John is aware of is he’s standing in a pile of dirt. No, not dirt: mud. He yelps, scrabbles off the pile, and, in an effort to remove the mud, furiously scrapes his shoes on - something. He glances down and sees that it’s grass. John looks around, hoping to figure out just where he is, but nothing is familiar. Judging by the vast number of trees and manmade lake, he appears to be in a park. Somewhere. A figure suddenly manifests about a hundred yards away from him. The figure is too far away to properly distinguish, but it’s very tall. It’s also yelling something at him. He can’t understand what it’s saying. Alter, maybe? Honor?_

_Before he can do anything else, the landscape dissolves, and now he’s standing in complete darkness. An unnerving - but not unfamiliar - sensation comes over John; he’s being watched. He turns around, expecting to see Magnus or one of the Majestic agents, and is instead looking directly at the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. It’s Pigment, though he doesn’t know_ how _he knows this. Even though she doesn’t seem to be wearing a circuit, she’s in human form. This isn’t what catches his eye, however. Pigment’s hands are resting on her very-swollen abdomen: she’s pregnant._

_“Hello, John,” dream-Pigment says coolly. There’s a friendliness to her voice that real-Pigment lacks._

_“Hi,” he says stupidly. Even in his dreams, he can’t talk to her without fucking up._

_“Are you okay?” she asks, and there’s worry in her eyes._

_He really doesn’t know anymore._

_“Honestly, I have no idea. Just a few seconds ago, I was standing in a dirt pile in some park. There was this…. person, I guess, in the distance shouting something at me.”_

_“What were they shouting?”_

_“No idea. I somehow ended up here from there before I had the chance to hear what they were saying.”_

_Dream-Pigment rubs her belly and smiles. John’s heart starts racing._

_Her smile is_ radiant.

_“The baby’s kicking._ _Strong little thing. Reminds me of me.”_

_Now John is actually starting to freak out._

_“Um, Pigment?”_

_“Yes?”_

_“I know this is a bit forward, well,_  really _forward, but can_ _I ask how you got, you know, pregnant? I’m pretty sure that's impossible for Greys.”_

_“Well, obviously that last bit isn’t true.” As she says ‘obviously’, Dream-Pigment points at her belly._

_“I guess not….” John says wearily._

_Dream-Pigment walks over to him and takes his hand in hers._

_“It’ll make sense one day, sweetheart. I promise.”_

_‘Sweetheart’? He was ‘sweetheart’ to her? What the_ fuck  _was going on?_

_“The baby’s yours, by the way. I think you have a right to know_ _.”_

_“It - it is? But how? Pig, I don't understand!_ _”_

_“Don’t worry, it’s nothing to get upset about! I promise everything is fine. It’ll all make sense one day.”_

_“What’ll make sense? Pigment, please tell me what’s going on!”_

_“It’s okay, sweetheart. I need you to trust me when I say that. I promise.”_

_Dream-Pigment cups his face in her hands, leans her forehead against his, and kisses him.)_

* * *

_“John. Wake up. John.”_

John awakens with a gasp, finding himself staring into the huge black eyes of a most definitely not-human Pigment.

“Wazgoinon?” he mumbles groggily, rubbing his temples.

_“I do not understand you.”_

“What’s going on? Did something happen?”

_“You were yelling. I thought people might hear you, so I woke you up.”_

“Oh God, I'm so sorry about that. I had a - dream,” he says, though he’s not sure ‘dream’ is the right word to describe what just transpired.

_“A nightmare?”_

“No, I wouldn’t say that. I mean, it was very...  _unexpected_ and peculiar, but not frightening. Not really.”

He decides it would be best to avoid telling her the details of what had occurred. If _she_ had told John she’d had a dream in which he’d come to her proclaiming they were destined to somehow have a baby together, he’d be more than a little disturbed.

This is all hypothetical, of course. As a Grey, Pigment is unable to dream.

_“So you are well?”_

“Yeah, I’m okay. Still a little frazzled, maybe, but I’ll be fine.”

_“Good.”_

Pigment extends her hand, and John blames it on his sleepless evening when it takes him a few moments to process she’s offering to help him up. He takes her hand - _has it always been so soft?_ \- and she pulls him to his feet.

_“Where are we going now?”_

John, much to his embarrassment, doesn’t have an answer.  

_“You do not know.”_

Is he really that transparent?

“We’re going to be okay, Pig. I just don’t really know what I’m doing. But I won’t let those assholes take you back there. I promise.”

_“Is that so?”_

John takes a deep breath; he knows it’s a promise with no guarantees, but he’ll do everything he can to keep them both safe.

“Yes. I promise that doctor will never touch you again.”

_“He will not hurt you again, either.”_

John’s not sure how to respond to that without being reducing to a sappy mess. Instead, he hoists Pigment onto his shoulders, which pleases her. They’ve got a long day ahead of them; he might as well start it off right.


	5. this twilight

_The variety of the Colorado landscape is a startling change from the nothingness of Nevada. Instead of endless deserts, there are mountains, forests Pigment cannot see the end of, and countless lakes. John says they are on their way to Denver, a city, where they will hopefully catch a train and shorten their journey._

_John, predictably, is incredibly excited._

“Just think, Pig! We’re this much closer to New York! You’re going to love it; there’s so much to see and do there. I’ll show you around Central Park, Brooklyn and Manhattan. At night, of course. It’s much too risky for us to travel during the day.”

_Pigment is not sure what to think of this. On the one hand, she would rather spend out the rest of her days in hiding. It is not as though she has anything better to do with her time. Now that she is no longer a part of the Grey collective, she is without a purpose._

_On the other hand, John is very eager to show her New York City, and something about the way his face lights up whenever he talks about it brings her a sense of -_

_A sense of -_

_Peace, perhaps?_

_Seeing John so happy makes her feel at peace._

_The realization hits her so hard it might as well have punched her in the face and spit in her eye._

_She does not understand why seeing this human man smile triggers such a reaction in her. Why this, and not the work she was created to do in order to save her entire race from extinction? Perhaps this is why the Commander gave her to the White Coats: he could sense her uselessness, how sending her away would ultimately benefit them all._

_She had had a duty to Shade. Shade, who was more devoted to their mission than any other Grey, who had been her companion for so long that Pigment could not even remember when they had first met. The knowledge that was helping to give their species one last chance for survival should have given her a sense of peace._

“How’re you doing, Pig? The ride isn’t too bumpy for you, is it?” _John asks._

_“No. I am well.”_

“Oh good. We should arrive at Denver sometime tomorrow, and before you know it, we’ll be hitching a ride on an old freight train!”

_Again, the sight of John’s smiling face stirs that foreign feeling within her. Peace._

_What would Shade think of her?_

“Mind if we take a little break? My back is getting sore,” _says John._

_“You may stop.”_

“Thanks. I promise it won’t be too long. I just need to recharge my batteries.”

_Pigment takes a seat on large, flat boulder as John stretches. He grunts slightly, as if he is in pain. She finds herself wanting to help him. She is just unsure how._

“Hey Pig, I hate to ask this of you, but would you please rub my shoulders? They're really killing me.”

_“Yes."_

“You're a life-saver. Just put your hands on my shoulders and kind of, uh, knead them a little.”

_"Need them for what?"_

"Knead with a k. Squeeze them. Not too much, but there should be some pressure applied."  

 _“_ _If you insist.”_

__Pigment does exactly as John instructed: she places her hands onto the afflicted areas and rubs. John is quiet._ _

“Thanks so much, Pig. You really are - ” _John stops in mid-sentence._

_“I am what?”_

_John tenses beneath her hands._

“You’re really wonderful, you know that?” _He is so quiet, at first she is not even sure he spoke._

_“I do now.”_

“I mean it. You’re just so, so incredible. I’m lucky to know you.”

_Odd timing for such declarations. Pigment has never had anyone say such things to her. If she is being truthful with herself, she is quite unequipped to deal with them._

_“Thank you. You are very good to me.”_

_John stands up and turns to face her._

“You don’t have to thank me. If anything, I should be thanking you, for trusting me the way you do. I know I wasn’t exactly pleasant when we first met. I’ll always regret that.”

_“I accept your thanks.”_

_John laughs, and for a moment, she forgets all about the Majestic 12, Area 51, and the doctor. He sweeps her into his arms, and his facial hair brushes the top of her head._

“The lady fair is oh-so merciful,” _he says with exaggerated grandeur._

_“I am not a lady fair.”_

“It's a joke, Pig.”

_“I see. You have had better ones."_

"How you wound me."  

_The sensation of being carried like this, cradled in John’s arms, is strange but not entirely unpleasant. She is swaying ever so slightly back and forth, and the rhythmic motions are soothing. John’s body is warm and comforting, and she wants to get as close to him as possible._

“Let me know when you want me to put you down,” _John tells her, and she almost asks him to carry her like this for the rest of their trip._

_Almost._

* * *

_Night had fallen much too quickly, and John had managed to find a small cave for them to hide. He had fallen asleep instantly. There are thousands of stars visible tonight, and Pigment, standing at the mouth of the cave, watches them twinkle, like they have always been there and always will be._

_They will not, of course. One day, they will burn out and die, and all that is left of them will be starlight, traveling endlessly through time and space._

_She thinks of the companions she left behind when she was traded away for a photograph. She thinks of Shade, wherever she is, still searching for the key that will save all of them. Of Tone, who had said so little yet worked so hard. And of Hue, who was different in so many ways and would have liked nothing more than to leave everything behind. She even thinks about the Commander, who remained something of an enigma to them all._

_They are like starlight, eternal and forever_ _searching for their place in the universe._

_Her mind wanders to her sleeping human companion and remembers their conversation about his father, how he had died before John could even remember him._

_Pigment is familiar with John’s personal belief about the fate of a living being after it dies. He told her, on a night not unlike this one, how he believes the energy of the dead (he had initially referred to such energy as the being's 'soul’, and when Pigment questioned him about this, he asked if there even was a difference) is reunited with the universe. How he hopes this was his father's ultimate fate, that he became part of the starlight._

_Such a thought is fanciful and nigh implausible._

_And yet._

_And yet, it sounds so much better than just blinking out of existence forever._

_Pigment decides she likes this idea very much._

* * *

_Her companion wakes up about two minutes later and stumbles over to where she is standing, still looking up at the night sky._

_Because of course he does._

“I used to love stargazing when I was a kid. I would look at the stars and wonder if there was anyone else out there who was doing the exact same thing I was, hoping they weren’t alone in the cosmos. It sounds silly and childish now, but then again, I’ve always been an idealistic type.”

_John’s attention has turned to her now, and for once, she cannot decipher his expression._

_“What are you thinking about?” she asks him._

“You. Sort of, anyway. I remember what you told me about the proto-Greys. About their planet dying.”

_“Yes. Most of us - them - were killed.”_

_John bites his lower lips. What he is about to say next is not easy for him._

“I can’t imagine that. Just - the idea of almost everyone and everything you know, gone in an instant. It’s unfathomable.”

_“Yes,” she says, because she cannot thing of another answer._

“I hope…. I hope they’re okay, wherever they are. Your family.”

_“They were not my family. They were the family of the original Pigment, the first Grey to carry my DNA within her.”_

“But, but doesn’t that kind of make them your family, then? To some degree?”

_“No. We do not have families, John. Not anymore. You are projecting a human concept onto beings inhuman. I thought you knew better by now than to do that.”_

“I'm sorry. Sometimes I forget. What with my being human and all.”

_He smiles sadly at this last statement, and lays a hand on her shoulder._

_Pigment shivers._

“I think we should start moving. Denver can’t be far off now.”

_“Yes. We should.”_

“After you, _mademoiselle._ ”

* * *

“So what do you think? Is this different from the desert or what? ”

_“Denver is loud. And too big.” Pigment has not been here five minutes and already she finds this place thoroughly distasteful._

“Loud and too big? Oh Pig, you’d better develop a tolerance for metropolises soon, or you’re _really_ going to hate New York.”

_“You asked me and I told you.”_

“That you did, Pig, that you did. I always appreciate hearing your opinion on things.”

_John hoists her onto his shoulders, allowing her to get a better view of her surroundings. There are enormous buildings that seem to touch the sky and countless lights all around her. She might have found the moment pleasant if not for the noise. Her companion is literally bouncing with excitement._

“I’m sure there’s a rail yard around here somewhere. You’ll love trains, Pig. It’s such a thrill to see everything whipping past you from the safety of the coach. Then again, we’ll have to stow away in a freight train, so you won't actually see anything. All the same, the sensation is still fantastic!”

_Pigment is not sure how she never noticed before, but John has a beautiful smile._

_And just like that, she feels that sensation stirring again. This time around, it does not feel like peace. Not wholly, at least._

_Perhaps it was never was peace in the first place._

_But that cannot be. It is not possible. Not for her._ _She is not like Hue. She will never be like Hue._

_When John tells her to stay hidden in an alley, that he is going to find food to take with him on the train, Pigment is still wrapped up in her own thoughts. Being with John has created feelings that have confounded and perplexed her. She has been forced to question everything she thought she knew about herself, about the boundaries of her species. She wants to understand why this is happening to her._

_She wants -_

_She wants  -_

_She wants to have a purpose._

_No, not_ a _purpose. She had a purpose when she belonged to the Grey collective._

_She wants a purpose that is entirely, uniquely her own, one that is not unanimous amongst her whole species._

_“I have a place in the universe,” she thinks to herself. “I have a place in this universe and I will find it.”_

* * *

_Pigment greets John upon his return by pouncing on his back and wrapping her arms around his neck._

_“I was wondering when you were going to come back.”_

“You - you were? I didn’t think I was gone that long. Then again, I don’t have a watch, so I could’ve been gone longer than I anticipated.”

_“No, you were gone a short while. My legs are just getting tired.”_

_Having spent the last thirty years around humans, all of whom were excellent liars, Pigment has most definitely picked up a thing or two._

“In that case, feel free to stay there for as long as you like. Some guy gave me a slice of pizza while I out scouring for food, so I’m feeling pretty good right now. I found twenty bucks on the ground - don’t ask me how I got that lucky, because I don’t know either - so I managed to buy some good snacks for the ride, not that you’ll be interested in any of them.”

_“What kind of snacks?” Although Pigment does not, as John so astutely mentioned, care a bit about human food, she likes listening to John talk. Especially about things that make his entire face light up._

“Uh, let me see. A few fruit bars, a bag of cheddar popcorn, jerky, and a cupcake with pink frosting. The frosting is almost the same color as your, er, badge, and it made me think of you when I saw it. And I really like cupcakes so, you know, I thought it was a good purchase.”

_John is babbling. This often happens whenever he is trying to hide something from her._

_Once upon a time, Pigment would have thought nothing of it. So what if John was keeping secrets from her; he would not return her to the Majestic 12, to that doctor. It would be completely illogical._

_She is not so apathetic now._

_It does not, however, seem like the best time to make her thoughts known to John. Pigment waits until they have reached the rail yard and squirreled themselves away in a rusty old train car - after evading the engineer making his evening rounds - before she says anything._

_“John, you can trust me.”_

_John bites a mouthful of cupcake, crumbs and frosting sticking to his face._

“What are you talking about, Pig? I know that.”

_“What are you hiding from me? What is so secret you cannot bring yourself to speak of it? Are you going to betray me?”_

_John practically leaps out of his suit._

“No! Oh God, how could you think that? I would never do that to you!”

_Pigment cocks her head. It is still hard to gage John’s thoughts without scanning through his mind. She promised him, though, she would not put him through that again, and she has no intentions of going back on that promise._

_“You do not have to lie to me, John. You can trust me.”_

_John runs his fingers through his hair and sighs. He wants to shut down; she can feel it. Wants to wish her a good night and lie down and pretend to fall asleep. But he knows she will not have it. There will be no more more secrets between them. No more lies._

“When I first met you, you weren’t Pigment to me. You were E.B.E - 5; a threat to mankind. A cold, unfeeling alien being incapable of demonstrating any act of goodness or compassion. That’s what I’d been told by that awful doctor, and I had no reason to doubt him. When I volunteered to be part of that - that - fucking _disgusting_ experiment, I didn’t expect to feel much more than scorn and repulsion for you. But after a while, I began to rethink my behavior. I remembered what my mother said about my father, how he believed in treating every living thing with kindness and respect. I decided to treat you like you were just another person, another person who was scared and alone. And then - then, I found myself caring about you. Caring what happened to you. I found out what that doctor was really using us - using  _you_ \- for and, well, I decided I couldn’t let him hurt you anymore. I wouldn’t ever let them hurt you again.”

_If not for the steady rhythm of the train’s wheels hitting the tracks, there would be dead silence. Pigment remains frozen in place, willing John to continue._

“I care about you, Pigment. I want you to be safe.”

_Between the screech of the train and the blaring of her own thoughts, Pigment crawls to John and lays her head in his lap. There is no particular reason for it. It just feels right._


	6. from shadows in the past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all enjoy the little reference I made to a certain.... someone. If you can't spot it, pay close attention to John's dreams. This certain someone pops up in them quite a lot ;-)

Sometimes John really wishes he had a journal. It would be extremely helpful in keeping track of all the bullshit that comes out of his mouth. Exhibit A being the incident that had just transpired. He had, essentially, confessed his love for Pigment. Pigment, who is not only incapable of returning his feelings, but also simply doesn't give a shit one way or the other. He can only hope she won’t read between the lines and understand what he was really saying to her. Things could get terribly awkward if she does.

John is a smart man. He has enough confidence in himself to say this. With pride, no less. But he also has enough humility to know that sometimes he can be really fucking stupid.

_‘The frosting is the same color as your badge.’_

Really, _really_ fucking stupid.

Pigment shifts, re-adjusting her position, and rolls onto her back: she's now looking directly at him. He can practically see the countless lifetimes she's lived within that gaze of hers. _She is ancient,_ he thinks, _far older than he is or ever will be. She is as eternal and beautiful and mysterious as the universe itself._

 _“John,”_ she says simply. He doesn’t offer her a response. He’s not even sure if she's seeking one.

They stay like this for some time, listening to the clack of the wheels hitting the rails and the occasional whistle of the train. John wishes he could freeze time, so they can stay in this moment forever. At peace with the world and with each other. He finally feels as though he has a home again.

 _“John, talk to me,”_ Pigment says. She reaches for his face and pokes him in the cheek.

“Or what?” he teases, giving her his best shit-eating grin.

_“Or I will ask you again.”_

John laughs. Pigment is nothing if not forthright to a fault. “Very well, _mademoiselle._ What do you want to talk about?”

_“You choose. You are better at talking than I am.”_

_That,_ John knows, is code for ‘you talk too much.’

“Well, I’m getting awfully tired of sitting in this boxcar and my legs are starting to cramp up.”

_“That is not talking; that is complaining.”_

“Excuse me! You’re the one who asked me to start talking.”

_“That is fair. Continue, if that is what you want to do.”_

John sighs. Pigment has a way of reaching into him and jumbling his insides and thoughts alike. Like the stardust that makes up his very body, she is a part of him now. Part of his very soul.

“I’m - I’m just tired, really. I want this bullshit to be over and for us to be safe. I want-”

 _I want to give you happiness._ _I want to give you respect. I want to give you all of my love._

 __“Tell me what_ you _want. Not what you want me to hear,”__ says Pigment. 

He can’t bring himself to say it. He does want to, God, he wants to tell her so, so badly that it physically _aches,_  but he just can’t. 

“I’m sorry. It’s not something that ought to be said. Not right now. Maybe not ever.”

_“Why not?”_

It’s such a simple question, yet the answer has far too much to unpack, to confront. She deserves at least one truth, though. “I’m afraid.”

Pigment, if her silence is anything to go by, processes this. He has no doubt she’s sick of his pathetic responses: he knows he would be, if he were in her place.   

_“Is there anything I can do?”_

“Nah, don’t worry about it. I’ve got to work through it myself. Thank you, though,” he adds quickly. 

Pigment stands up and nuzzles her face in his hair for a few brief moments. This must be her version of a kiss. John's face grows hot, and he feels the beginnings of what must surely be an incredibly stupid grin spreading across his face.

“Good night, Pig,” John whispers, curling in on himself in an effort to conserve as much body heat as possible.

_“Well eve, John.”_

* * *

John awakens in the middle of the night to find Pigment snuggled in his lap. Her eyes are wide open - her kind do not sleep, she once told him - and it makes her look like she’s staring at him. It’s a bit creepy, John will admit that much to himself. He doubts he’ll ever really get used to that perpetual hundred-yard stare of hers. John touches Pigment's forehead with his index finger and gently traces a line down her cheek to where her jaw would be. She doesn’t react. This makes John feel very….

How _does_ it make him feel?

Awkward? Embarrassed? Disappointed? Some burning mixture of all three?

Then again, he doesn’t even know what sort of reaction he’d been hoping for. Any further introspection is interrupted by Pigment sitting upright and sliding off his lap.

 _“Your legs are very bony,”_ she declares, as easily as if she'd been announcing the time of day.

“One of my flaws, I'm afraid. They’ve always been like that. I just can’t seem to get any meat on them no matter what I do,” John says sheepishly. He’s surprised at how quickly insecurity has crept up on him.

_“Flaws are nothing to be ashamed of. Most beings, human and inhuman, have many of them. Although, you may have a little bit less than average.”_

If John didn’t know any better, he’d say she was turning slightly pink. Perhaps his feeling aren’t as unrequited as he thought.

“You’re so fickle, Pigment. An insult one moment, a compliment the next. I really don’t know what to make of you.”

Pigment becomes suddenly fixated with the floor and ignores his comment. John twiddles his thumbs absentmindedly, pondering their next move; they’ve been on this train for about an hour and a half now. He really doesn’t want to spend two hours cooped up in this little freight car. They’ll have to get off the train. Pigment’s numerous abilities will come in very handy when the time comes. If she can use her telekinesis to slow their fall, they should be able to make it to solid ground in one piece.

Not wanting to waste any time, John fills Pigment in on the plan: they’re going to stay on the train for another hour before Pigment renders the walls temporarily nonexistent. Once this is done, she’ll use her telekinesis to (hopefully) guarantee a safe landing after they’ve leapt from the train. 

 _“You are sure this is the best course of action?”_ she asks, her voice tinged with something that sounds very much like anxiety.

John’s not sure what to say. Truth be told, he's not so sure this  _is_ the smartest thing to do, but no other options come to mind. Nevertheless, John won't leave her hanging.

“Do you have a better idea? I don’t mean that in a rude way; if you have a plan that doesn’t involve us jumping from a train, I would love to hear it.”

Pigment shakes her head.

_“I worry about what could go wrong. I do not want to have any harm come to either of us."_

“Do you think you’ll actually be able to get us to the ground safely? Because if you’re having doubts, then we really are going to have to come up with another plan. Or I guess we could just wait until the train arrives at its stop,” John says, running his fingers through his hair. He hopes it's just nerves and she's not _genuinely_ concerned she might make a mistake.

_“I am not sure. Getting us to safety is nothing. It is the part about dissolving the wall that concerns me. To make it immaterial, I will need to be extremely focused. Such an action will also weaken me. If I am already feeling drained before we jump, I may not have the energy to break our fall.”_

A shame washes over John. It hadn’t even occurred to him using her telekinesis to literally dissolve a wall might take a toll on her. He certainly doesn’t want her exerting herself to the point of risking her own wellbeing or their physical safety.

“You’re right, Pig. I didn’t even think about how you might be affected. If you can't do it-.”

 _“I am not saying I cannot_ _dissolve the wall. All I am saying is I will need a great deal of strength to do so successfully. For that, I cannot use any more of my energy.”_

“Then rest as much as you need. I’ll be fine,” John says, shucking off his coat and folding it neatly beside him.

_“You will?”_

“Yeah, of course. I might even try and get some more shut-eye myself.”  

Pigment looks at him, cocks her head, and walks away from him, only to sit back down with her back to the walls of the car. John, now determined to squeeze in as much sleep as he can, wraps his coat around himself and stretches out on the floor. It isn’t long before his mind starts to wander, and his thoughts turn to that strange dream from almost two weeks ago. One thing in particular has been haunting him.

_Who was that figure? What did it want? What was it even saying to me?_

John has half a mind to mention this to Pigment, but it feels pointless. She probably wouldn’t know who - or what - that figure was any more than he does. It wasn’t a Grey, John knew that much, because it had seemed much too filled out. It had looked human, but something about the way it moved had seemed off….

_“John.”_

The unexpected sound of Pigment’s disembodied voice inside his head makes him scream. 

“Fuck, don’t do that!”

_“I apologize, but your thoughts are quite distracting.”_

“Did you mind scan me again?”

 _“Yes.”_ If John didn’t know any better, he’d have thought Pigment sounded ashamed.

“Jesus Pigment, you _know_ I hate it when you do that! Not only that, I _specifically_ told you to stop!

_“You did.”_

“So why’d you do it, then?”

_“Your thoughts were loud, jumbled, confused. I wanted to see what was causing you such turmoil.”_

“I know you were trying to help, but that still doesn’t make it okay. Especially when you know that it’s not something that I feel comfortable with. At all.”

He’s not sure if any of this is getting through to her: since she doesn’t have feelings, it stands to reasons she also doesn’t have the capacity to actually understand _why_ he hates her mind scanning as much as he does. Why it makes him feel small, powerless.

“You can’t do that. You just can’t. I know that you don’t know why I don’t like it, and you can’t really help it, but I’m only going to ask you one more time: don’t do it. Not unless I ask you to.”

_“Very well.”_

Typical Grey response. He can only hope he got through to her.

“If you don’t mind, Pig, I, er, need a little space right now. We can deal with the wall-dissolving situation later, when you’re feeling up to it.” His brusqueness, perhaps, will give her the hint that he’s serious about his objection to her mind scanning. When she doesn’t say anything to him and tucks herself into the corner that's farthest from himself, John thinks it’s safe to say she read his message loud and clear.

The last time he’s been this upset with her was when they were still at Area 51. As a matter of fact, it was one of the first times they’d met. John had been interrogating her about the Greys' technological abilities, and she hadn't said one word to him. However, as he’d been walking out the door, she'd scanned his mind, and he’d felt her rifling through his most personal memories. It had made him furious, and he’d almost gone to Glasner and said he wasn’t going to put up with such disrespect from a Grey. John shudders at what might have become of Pigment if he had ratted her out to the doctor.

Not wanting to spend a second longer dwelling on his awful thought, John turns his focus to the figure from his dream. It certainly hadn’t seemed familiar, yet John knows that he’s met whoever - or whatever - it is before. It’s a powerful, overwhelming feeling, and the identity of this being is on the tip of his tongue, like the half-remembered words to a childhood lullaby.

He’s tired. So, so tired. John wants to at least squeeze in twenty minutes of sleep before they potentially plunge to their deaths from a moving train. _Just twenty minutes,_ John says to any higher powers who may be eavesdropping. _Please. That’s all I’m asking for._

* * *

_He’s floating. It’s a peculiar sensation, weightlessness, but not necessarily unpleasant. John kicks his legs out behind him as though he’s in a swimming pool, propelling himself forward._

_“Weird,” he says aloud. There doesn’t seem to be anyone else around, so he’s free to talk to himself without getting strange looks. Again, John can’t pinpoint where he is; he feels like he's indoors - though he can't explain why he feels that way - and the scenery is blurry, fading in and out of focus._

_John falls to the ground, hitting a hard surface._

_A blood-curdling scream rips through the silence.  John covers his ears but he can still clearly hear the horrible sound. Desperate to find the poor thing from whom the scream is coming from, John forces himself to his feet and sprints forward. Slowly but surely, a figure comes into view. It is, unsurprisingly, Pigment. The knowledge that she’s in pains stirs something in John, and he rushes to her side. Pigment - in her human form - is on the ground, knees reaching her chin, legs splayed: she’s in labor. John pales: he has absolutely no idea how to deliver a baby._

_“Hey, Pig, it’s me,” he says. It isn’t in any way helpful to her, but it’s all he can do. “Uh, I’m not exactly certified to help someone give birth, but if you need me to, I can do my best to -”_

_He’s cut off by another piercing scream. John looks around frantically: they can’t be alone. There_ has _to be someone around who can help her. When nobody shows up, John turns his attention back to Pigment._

_“Okay, just keep your breathing steady. You can do this. I’m, uh, I’m going to check how you’re doing. Is that all right?”_

_Pigment gives him a strained nod, and he pulls the gown to her knees. Before his eyes, Pigment dissolves, everything goes black, and John is left alone. He shrieks Pigment’s name, calling for her to come back, but he receives no answer. In this moment, John hears a baby crying. It doesn’t sound far off, and John, stumbling through the darkness, rushes to find it._

_He’s running through what he guesses is a tunnel, based on the loud echo of his feet slapping the ground. He can’t tell if he’s getting farther or closer; the crying hasn’t changed pitch._

_He shouts "Hello!" as loud as he can. The crying stops about a second later._ _John’s blood runs cold at the thought of what might have happened to the baby for it to go quiet as suddenly as it did._

_John senses movement to his right and whips around. There are footsteps, he knows that much, and they’re heading away from him. John dashes after them._

_“Wait!” He doesn’t expect whoever - or whatever - he’s pursuing to respond, but there’s no harm in trying. The rhythmic pounding of the person’s feet indicates they have no intention of slowing down or stopping, and John can only run so fast for so long. Just as he curls over and gasps for air, the footsteps stop._

_“Hello? Who’s there?” John says once he’s caught his breath. “I won’t hurt you. I promise.”_

_No answer._

_“Let me help you.”_

_John offers his hand to whatever’s in front of him, even though he doesn’t expect anything to take it. Nothing does. He hears something that_ _sounds an awful lot like frightened breathing. After a few more tense moments, John's attempts at communication pay off. Slow, tentative footsteps start to move toward him. He feels_ something _touch his fingertips -_

* * *

 John wakes up to the sound of his own voice. Great. He’s been talking in his sleep. Pigment must’ve found that delightful.

 _“Something must be on your mind,”_ Pigment says from across the boxcar. She probably hasn’t moved since he fell asleep. Seeing as he’s completely lost track of time, she could’ve been sitting there for fifteen minutes or four hours.

“Oh, yeah. I, uh, had another weird dream. And before you ask: yes, you were in it again.”

_“What was I doing?”_

Of course the question with the most awkward answer is the first one that comes out of her mouth. He might as well tell it to her straight up. “You were having a baby.”

_“My species cannot conceive offspring. Not any longer.”_

“I know. I'm just as confused as you are.”

Pigment falls quiet. _“Perhaps this dream is important.”_

“How so?”

_“You once said dreams have significance. Even if one does not know why.”_

“I mean, technically there’s still no explanation for why we have dreams. The idea that dreams are our subconscious trying to tell us something is just that: an idea. And, quite frankly, I’m not sure I’m in the mood right now for psychoanalysis.”

 _“I understand.”_ Pigment’s become much more in tune with when he’s no longer comfortable discussing something.

It's at this moment John remembers their plan to escape the train. “Pig, do you feel like you’ve got enough energy to get us off this train now? We really shouldn't stay any longer." 

_“Yes.”_

“Yes, you need more time, or yes, you think you can, as I said, get us off this train right now?”

_“Yes, I can get us off this train right now. Unless you would like to try.”_

John’s about to protest when he realizes she was being sarcastic. A sure sign she's been hanging around him for much too long. 

“That was funny, I’ll give you that. A four out of ten, _maybe_ a five. Next time you decide to be a smart-ass, I expect no less than a six,” says John, smirking at Pigment.  

_“Why six?”_

“It’s my favorite number.”

_"How nice."_

John takes a deep breath. It’s now or never. “I guess all that’s left is to cross our fingers and hope we haven’t pissed off any cosmic deities.”

_“What do you mean ‘we’?”_

"Now that's a six if I ever heard one!" 


End file.
